Wednesday, July 4, 2007 at 2:02am
Citizenship and faith meet in jury duty
Column: New Houses from Old Bricks
Back when I was working with college students on vocation discernment, we named the multiple vocations one can experience simultaneously: son or daughter, spouse, parent, worker, student, friend, citizen. We spoke of one's faith or community affiliation as a vocation, and more broadly, of the "vocation" of being human. Sometimes those vocations can support each other — when one's work teaches one to be a better parent, for example. But they also can conflict, and on this July 4, it's worth considering how the vocations of American citizen and person of faith (in my case, Christian) interact.
In fact, it's not only worthwhile, it's essential. Much of the current rhetoric of American patriotism provides a simplistic answer: To be a good American is to be a good Christian, and vice versa. These days, to question a particular take on Christianity or a particular national policy is often seen as an attack on the entirety of both faith and nation.
In this kind of rhetoric, faith and patriotism aren't the only things that get mixed up. So do patriotism and citizenship, as if our vocation as citizens can only be lived authentically as die-hard patriots. The dictionary tells me otherwise — that, in fact, citizenship and patriotism are quite different animals. Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary defines patriotism as "love for or devotion to one's country." In contrast, the second definition for citizenship is "the quality of an individual's response to membership in a community." (That definition makes it possible that some community-minded "citizens" might be found among those without the privilege of official citizenship.)
Such "community membership" sounds neighborly, which ought to weave together seamlessly with faith. However, others have sometimes assumed that my vocation as a Christian conflicts with my vocation as a citizen. Several summers ago I was called up for the citizenship-opportunity of jury duty. At that time of year my university job afforded me the time to serve, and I was actually looking forward to carrying out my civic duty.
On my appointed day I made it all the way to the jury box and was questioned by the judge about my stated profession: ordained minister. He asked whether I thought I could focus on the law, or whether my vocation would make that problematic by calling me to a different authority.
With time to prepare, I might have been better able to answer this surprise theological question in the courtroom. I thought immediately of Martin Luther's understanding of "Two Kingdoms" (Christians live in both God's kingdom and society simultaneously), and I expressed that conviction that I could be both a law-abiding citizen and a God-abiding Christian. After all, I reasoned, both those roles should be able to guide me in doing the right thing on a jury.
The judge let it go at that, but I was soon excused from service. The customary lack of explanation left me to make up my own story: Perhaps my faith, with its "higher authority" than the law, simply made me too unpredictable a juror.
Years later, the experience remains unresolved for me. On the one hand, I want to prove that I can be a good citizen and a faithful Christian simultaneously. After all, I had been singled out somewhat arbitrarily on that jury. If I had become a juror and appealed to God over law, that wouldn't have been because I'm a minister — it would have been because I'm a Christian. How many other people of faith, responding to their own "higher authorities," were in that jury box with me? For better or worse, my job makes my faith public and invites people to make their own assumptions. (Since then, I have heard many more stories about ministers being excused from jury service.)
On the other hand, when I think about where my accountability should lie, I wonder if those vocations conflict more than I think. Had I been on that jury, I can't imagine saying to myself or God, "Well, it's fairly clear what Jesus would do here, but I agreed to follow these certain rules on this jury, so I'm going to do the opposite." In reality, I do want God to be the highest authority in my life. I'm troubled by the idea that I would just set that aside for anything else.
In his book "The Gospel According to America," David Dark sums up this dilemma as it plays out in civic participation way beyond jury duty, into public office. "John F. Kennedy and John Kerry can claim affiliation with the Roman Catholic church while assuring the people that no church teaching or papal decree will have any actual effect on their decision-making." The need for assurance makes sense. Most Christians can't even agree on what Jesus would do in a given situation, and in a pluralistic society, what about other "higher authorities" as well?
Later, Dark quotes this portion of an interview with George W. Bush (interview by Tom Brokaw, "NBC Nightly News," April 24, 2003): "The decision about war and peace is a decision I made based upon what I thought were the best interests of the American people. I was able to step back from religion, because I have a job to do." My jury duty wasn't about war and peace, but essentially that's what I told the judge: I can step back from religion, because I have a job to do on this jury.
Even George W. Bush, whose rhetoric so often seems to meld Christian faith and patriotism, seems to argue that those vocations can be separate but equal. I'm not satisfied with that. I want to know that my Christian vocation could conflict with my vocation as citizen, even if they are generally harmonious on a daily basis. I want to know that the demands of one vocation could potentially call the other into question — hold my feet to the fire, so to speak.
I'm still working this out myself, and alas, I don't get to decide how anyone else works it out either, including George W. Bush. But I do wish he and other public leaders spoke about citizenship — the day-to-day quality of our communal life together in this country — as often as they speak about patriotism. It might make us better neighbors, able to love one another and work together. Now that would make a country worth being devoted to.
In the end, I agree with Dark: "The injunction to love the neighbor in the minute particulars of speech and action has never been an easy one, but it might be the nearest and most immediate form of patriotism available to any of us."
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.
In fact, it's not only worthwhile, it's essential. Much of the current rhetoric of American patriotism provides a simplistic answer: To be a good American is to be a good Christian, and vice versa. These days, to question a particular take on Christianity or a particular national policy is often seen as an attack on the entirety of both faith and nation.
In this kind of rhetoric, faith and patriotism aren't the only things that get mixed up. So do patriotism and citizenship, as if our vocation as citizens can only be lived authentically as die-hard patriots. The dictionary tells me otherwise — that, in fact, citizenship and patriotism are quite different animals. Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary defines patriotism as "love for or devotion to one's country." In contrast, the second definition for citizenship is "the quality of an individual's response to membership in a community." (That definition makes it possible that some community-minded "citizens" might be found among those without the privilege of official citizenship.)
Such "community membership" sounds neighborly, which ought to weave together seamlessly with faith. However, others have sometimes assumed that my vocation as a Christian conflicts with my vocation as a citizen. Several summers ago I was called up for the citizenship-opportunity of jury duty. At that time of year my university job afforded me the time to serve, and I was actually looking forward to carrying out my civic duty.
On my appointed day I made it all the way to the jury box and was questioned by the judge about my stated profession: ordained minister. He asked whether I thought I could focus on the law, or whether my vocation would make that problematic by calling me to a different authority.
With time to prepare, I might have been better able to answer this surprise theological question in the courtroom. I thought immediately of Martin Luther's understanding of "Two Kingdoms" (Christians live in both God's kingdom and society simultaneously), and I expressed that conviction that I could be both a law-abiding citizen and a God-abiding Christian. After all, I reasoned, both those roles should be able to guide me in doing the right thing on a jury.
The judge let it go at that, but I was soon excused from service. The customary lack of explanation left me to make up my own story: Perhaps my faith, with its "higher authority" than the law, simply made me too unpredictable a juror.
Years later, the experience remains unresolved for me. On the one hand, I want to prove that I can be a good citizen and a faithful Christian simultaneously. After all, I had been singled out somewhat arbitrarily on that jury. If I had become a juror and appealed to God over law, that wouldn't have been because I'm a minister — it would have been because I'm a Christian. How many other people of faith, responding to their own "higher authorities," were in that jury box with me? For better or worse, my job makes my faith public and invites people to make their own assumptions. (Since then, I have heard many more stories about ministers being excused from jury service.)
On the other hand, when I think about where my accountability should lie, I wonder if those vocations conflict more than I think. Had I been on that jury, I can't imagine saying to myself or God, "Well, it's fairly clear what Jesus would do here, but I agreed to follow these certain rules on this jury, so I'm going to do the opposite." In reality, I do want God to be the highest authority in my life. I'm troubled by the idea that I would just set that aside for anything else.
In his book "The Gospel According to America," David Dark sums up this dilemma as it plays out in civic participation way beyond jury duty, into public office. "John F. Kennedy and John Kerry can claim affiliation with the Roman Catholic church while assuring the people that no church teaching or papal decree will have any actual effect on their decision-making." The need for assurance makes sense. Most Christians can't even agree on what Jesus would do in a given situation, and in a pluralistic society, what about other "higher authorities" as well?
Later, Dark quotes this portion of an interview with George W. Bush (interview by Tom Brokaw, "NBC Nightly News," April 24, 2003): "The decision about war and peace is a decision I made based upon what I thought were the best interests of the American people. I was able to step back from religion, because I have a job to do." My jury duty wasn't about war and peace, but essentially that's what I told the judge: I can step back from religion, because I have a job to do on this jury.
Even George W. Bush, whose rhetoric so often seems to meld Christian faith and patriotism, seems to argue that those vocations can be separate but equal. I'm not satisfied with that. I want to know that my Christian vocation could conflict with my vocation as citizen, even if they are generally harmonious on a daily basis. I want to know that the demands of one vocation could potentially call the other into question — hold my feet to the fire, so to speak.
I'm still working this out myself, and alas, I don't get to decide how anyone else works it out either, including George W. Bush. But I do wish he and other public leaders spoke about citizenship — the day-to-day quality of our communal life together in this country — as often as they speak about patriotism. It might make us better neighbors, able to love one another and work together. Now that would make a country worth being devoted to.
In the end, I agree with Dark: "The injunction to love the neighbor in the minute particulars of speech and action has never been an easy one, but it might be the nearest and most immediate form of patriotism available to any of us."
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.